Researching Rebel Hart

            When writing Rebel Hart, Jackie and I did not have a ready-made outline (nor a timeline) in place as we had for Broken Drum.  Nancy Hart’s story deals with a lesser known aspect of the Civil War—not the main battles, but rather the struggles of the common people in a border region where the sympathies were divided. 

We were fortunate to live close enough to travel to all the areas we were writing about.  We began by calling the chambers of commerce and historical societies of the towns of Summersville, Richwood, and Spencer, West Virginia.  Through our conversations, we were given the name of Susan Johnson, a high school English and drama teacher, who had written a play about Nancy Hart.  Susan was incredibly generous with the information and newspaper articles she had collected.  Through her, we learned about Nancy’s granddaughter, Myrtle Hollandsworth, who was still living at age 95.  We hoped to actually meet her when we traveled to West Virginia, but at that time she said, “I ain’t gonna talk to no more strangers ‘bout my Mamaw.” 

We did, however, get a newspaper article which described how, in 1910, Myrtle had stood on the bridge in Richwood, WV with her grandmother Nancy and watched a comet in the sky.  Nancy called the comet a “bad omen of another great war about to start.”  We had found conflicting reports of Nancy’s age and dates of her death (one as early as 1902), but because of this specific memory, we decided to start our story with this incident.

Again, as when researching Broken Drum, it was important for us to study the terrain we were writing about.  We drove the winding back roads through the mountains and valleys.  The first time we visited was in early autumn when the leaves were still on the trees.  Later, because a portion of our story takes place in winter, my husband and I went back to central West Virginia to see what it was like in January with snow on the ground and the trees bare.  I looked at the spiny ridges with their humps and dips and stark trees and could see why there was no way for the Rebel Raiders to travel undetected in the wintertime.

We did have to fictionalize some events to round out the story, but in our research we learned some amazing incidents in which Nancy Hart was involved.  Once, when Nancy visited her pregnant sister, the Union soldiers suspected Nancy was in the area and searched the house.  Her sister, Mary, hid Nancy in a large pillow bolster case, stitched it closed, and leaned back against her on the bed.  Here’s a passage from Rebel Hart, found on pages 46 and 47…

 Nancy fought another tremor of rising panic.  She was so tightly wedged into this position that the cloth pressed against her nose and mouth.  Like bein’ in a shroud—the thought had her suffocating again.  She could see nothing, but she could hear everything.  Someone entered the room.  The door latched closed.  Then the reassuring voice of Will, “I’ll have to go inta town, Mary.  They want me to speak in favor of the new state ordinance at the rally tomorra’ mornin’.”

Mary spoke in an indignant whisper.  “They can’t make you speak fer somethin’ you don’t believe in!  We’re Virginians!”

“Mary darlin’,” Will spoke back softly, “I have no choice.  They’re here with their men and their weapons.  I have to go in order to protect you and the young’uns and the farm.”

Heavy footsteps bounded up the stairs and moved through the room above. Mary’s back stiffened against Nancy.  “What are they doin’ in the girls’ room?”  she asked, no longer whispering.

Before Will could speak, the door swung open abruptly, banging against the wall.  A gruff voice responded, “Looking, ma’am.  We’re looking for any renegade that might have a reason to come visiting.”

“You have no right to burst in here!”  Mary said in outrage.  “And you’ve wakened my child.”  Margaret was now wailing in fright.

“Mary, darlin’, don’t get riled.”  Will spoke in his ever calm voice.  “Colonel, I’ll thank you not to walk in on my wife and my child.  I said I’ll go with you to speak fer the ordinance, but let a man git his boots and coat.”

Disregarding Will’s statement, the colonel said, “Men, in here.  Check under the bed, all the cupboards and chests, and don’t forget the outhouse.  Now, Ma’am, I have reason to believe that your sister, a Miss Nancy Hart, is living among those bushwhacking murderers of Perry Conley’s.  When was the last time you had occasion to see her?”

Nancy tired not to tremble. I gotta be still.  I gotta be still.  She could feel Mary’s back stiff and hard against her, as if to say, they’ll have to go through me to get to you, little sister.

“It’s been nigh onta four months now, Colonel,” Will spoke for her, and Mary crooned to Margaret, rocking back and forth and swaying the bed.

The sounds of cupboard doors slamming open, the sounds of shattering crockery, and the pounding, pounding of boots rang throughout the house as Nancy huddled in the dark, with her eyes closed, jaw set, expecting that at any time she would be torn from her dark hiding place…